They told me that my spine bent forwards was a sign of my accepting and timid personality. That i could go nowhere in life with it.
They told me that the way i stared into the eyes of the wrongdoers made me look a little ‘rebellious’. That it wasn’t healthy if i wanted to survive.
They told me that my sweaty palms were just my insecurities coming to the surface. That if people saw it they’d try to take advantage of me.
They told me that the speed with which I’d burst into tears made me appear weak. That i must learn to be less human in order to fit in.
They told me that i was living in the ashes of a fire I’d created myself.
But in fact, i was rising from the ashes of their words and these little giveaways were a part of my identity, not weaknesses.